


Finding Paradise

by Weirdling_Joi



Series: Bringing Castiel Back One AU at a Time [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Castiel (Supernatural)-centric, Castiel-centric, Character Death, Character Death Fix, Episode Related, Episode: s13e01 Lost and Found, Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Male Friendship, Post-Episode: s13e01 Lost and Found, Season 13 AU, Season/Series 13, Temporary Character Death, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2019-01-17 02:26:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12355566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weirdling_Joi/pseuds/Weirdling_Joi
Summary: What if the only one who can save Cas is ... Cas?  Or the real reason Season 7 (the Leviathans) happened.





	Finding Paradise

**Author's Note:**

> Although I use some made up angel traits (wings) from my other fic, Failsafe, this is not related to that story. These stories are only linked into a series, because I intend to make several different AUs about the many ways to save Cas that won't ever happen.

When Cas still had power, when his wings were full-feathered albeit stained from his trips through hellfire, when time could be mastered by a spell, when his skin was splitting and groaning under the weight of all those souls and all those sins, when his mind was burning beneath a thousand slick voices, he had gone to the future. He needed hope after Dean had tried to kill him. He had to know he was on the right path. He had to see the Paradise his sacrifice would bring about.

The answer did not sit well with him.

He did not exist. Dean did not exist. Sam did not exist. Nor Bobby. Nor his Paradise. The world was empty, echoing with the cries of the past. Trees and animals and insects had conquered the world of man. Heavens were still-lifes, frozen images. Hell stank of rotting bodies that no one tended. The air had long been cleaned of the sulfuric stink of demons. Monsters no longer stained the earth with their presence. Humans no longer carried out their confusing, beautiful lives. The angels had left a vaccuum of silence that ached. Everything sentient, gone. Gone for a while. The echoes had grown faint.

There was no hell, no heaven, no anything. Just the great . . . Empty. 

This world, it had happened because of him, because he made a mistake, because he had failed to bring about his Paradise. Every slick voice fell silent. Afraid. Alone. A world of one.

But not for long. For so long, they had been clamoring over each other, each vying for his attention, each nibbling at his will. Now they spoke as one. 

"We do not want this. Build the Spark. Fix it. But be safe." And the plan unfolded before him, one vision, overpowering with its details and intensity.

It was not his hand, but their hands; it was not his voice, but their voice; it was not his power, but their power that burnt off a third of the souls and created the safety net. A weak reflection of himself, made of only a few dimensions and wavelengths. It would find him if he died, when his energies dispersed. It would send out a siren call to the rest of his energies, dragging them back from this empty place to consolidate. It would take forever and a day, for energies from that sort of death were timeless, illegible to any but God--and this Spark. His weak self would never have thought of it. Most of these souls never would have either. But all of them together. Not only could they conceive it, they could achieve it. 

And so it was made, something to find him, something to revive him, something to restart his Paradise before it could be lost and take the world with it.

And it slept for an eternity.

And then, on May 18, 2017, Cas died, irrevocably. 

On May 19, his Spark had its work cut out for it, for there was no body to return to. Yet it spooled the grace around itself anyway, like thousands of sparks slinking toward a black hole. Like a galaxy spiraling around an invisible heart. 

On May 22, a young nephilim sensed something both new and old had returned to the world and went in search of the only angel voice that did not hurt. And he found his father at last. He blazed like the memories of his death in Dean's mind. Blazed with thwarted will. It would be trapped forever bobbing above the ash and bone and charred chunks of wood if he didn't act. 

And at last he could. 

Jack couldn't gather together dispersed grace, but he could remake a body. He fashioned it from ash and memory. The bobbing, twisting thread of life, both too big and too small at the same time, completed its purpose at last. It settled inside the body lying on the cold ground, watched over by dawn. Six wings unfolded like a bud opening. The body gasped as air filled its lungs. Blue eyes opened. And Father sat up, trembling. Feathers quivering. Senses dotting every feather opened too far but barely saw anything. 

Jack knelt beside his father. 

A few feathers turned his way. They quit flaring long enough to look, listen, smell. "Jack?"

At last. "Father." He squeezed the bare shoulder like he had seen one brother do to another, a sign of affection. "You are more resourceful than I expected. I feared you were gone forever to the Empty."

The brow crinkled. Then the blue eyes looked down at his lap. "Why am I naked?"

Before Jack could answer, the crunch of gravel sounded behind them. They turned and looked as the black Impala came to a halt. And the doors opened up. Guns were pointed their way. Rage poured off Dean, and his finger twitched on the trigger that housed angel-blade bullets, each one cut with an Enochian spell. "How the hell did you even get here? What are you--?" The gun lowered. "Cas?!"

"Dean." Cas nodded. Stood and wiped dirt off his legs. "Sam. I don't know what's happened. I need answers and--"

One second, his eldest charge was staring, pale, gun shaking in his fist. Then Sam called his name and stepped past him, and Dean went impossibly still. 

But only for a second. 

Before Sam could reach Cas, Dean snapped into action. The distance closed. And Cas was ripped away from Jack's side and enfolded in a hug as potent as his rage a moment before. That had been like a scarlet thundercloud; this was like being crushed by a great green sea of emotion. Pain, joy, disbelief, relief . . . roiled. Nothing in Cas's life had ever felt this strong.

Nothing in his life had ever felt this good.

This hug. It was so overwhelming, so shocking, it took a moment, but then he returned the embrace. With his arms. And with his invisible, intangible wings when that was not enough. 

His intact wings.

He squeezed Dean harder because of that. 

Because he had received a miracle. Because he could fly again, if he wanted to. Because, even better, he could see, sense. Feel. 

Never before had he ever felt, really felt, what home was like. Not until this moment when he sensed its match in the brothers. 

"If you don't want to turn this into a group hug, Dean . . . " Sam warned.

With a snort, Dean eased back a few inches and turned his head to Jack, who was watching with a smile. Pretending that his vision wasn't blurry, that he wasn't sniffing, Dean said, "Thank you, Jack."

"I didn't do all of it. It was him. It was amazing. I heard his voice, but it wasn't his voice. And I followed . . . " The young nephilim cocked his head. "You aren't listening."

"Nope." Dean pushed back to an arm's length, hands squeezing the shoulders before him. Sam was bouncing at his side, eager for his turn to greet their best friend, their missing family member, this miracle they didn't deserve. But before Dean could give in and let go of Cas, he eyed him up and down, checking him over for injuries, to make sure everything was . . . he started . . . intact. And he laughed. "What happened to your clothes, man?"

Blushing now, Cas looked down and stepped back. "I'm not really sure." He touched his cheek. "I'm . . . blushing?" Am I both human and angel now? How?

But there was no time for that. Sam was there. Laughing. Clapping him on the back. Saying, "We can take care of that in the car. Come on, let's get you home. All of us. I have a feeling we have a lot of catching up to do."

Cas would have liked a moment alone with Jack. To speak to him. To learn what had happened without worrying the brothers. But they gave him no chance. They dragged him to the trunk, and the youth followed. An armload of clothing was pushed into his hands, some smelling of Dean, some smelling of Sam, and when he didn't move fast enough, two sets of hands decided to help, smiles starting to fade.

It never took long for worry to start creeping in. 

Before they got far in their attempts or concerns, a third set of hands joined in. "I didn't realize we helped each other dress. I would have done much better the first time if I had known that."

Dean snorted and held the pair of jeans low enough for Cas to step into. Sam steadied him with a grip on his arm and murmured to Jack, "Why don't you get his shoes ready."

Jack knelt on the ground and began pulling at the laces. "I like shoes. They are confining but . . . in a good way. You'll like them too, Father." 

Cas let them help, each in their own way. For truth be told, he didn't have the energy to move at the speed they desired. The world, so sharp and strong moments ago, was blunting, fading beneath exhaustion. He'd have to sleep soon. And he didn't want to do it half-clothed. 

Once he passed their inspection, he let them guide him into the back, and he sagged into his seat, feeling heavier and duller by the moment. He rolled his head back and stared at the roof. There was plenty of time for questions and answers. For now, before he faded away into sleep, he wanted one thing. 

The same thing they wanted.

That spoke from them all as if with one voice.

"Let's go home."

That earned him the return of three smiles. They were the last things he saw before he closed his eyes and gave into the smell, the vibration, the closeness, the sense of belonging that filled the car to the brim. No matter what the future had, in this moment, he had found his Paradise at last.


End file.
